


Straying from the Fold

by nyla



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, classic wyatt action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyla/pseuds/nyla
Summary: A new talent strays from the WWE Performance Center. Little does she know members of a certain family prowl these woods...





	Straying from the Fold

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I wrote this a few years back. Consider this an unwritten chapter in Wyatt family lore of 2013-14.

They were looking for her. Mona could hear the drone of low, gravelly voices down the hallway, even above the pounding of her heart. What struck her was that, though their words were indiscernible from up here, the tone exuded confidence.

Her breath came short and quiet, and her body would not stop trembling. Mona extended her arms before her to survey the damage. In the darkness she could see, faintly, patches of fresh bruises and scrapes. Her fingers felt raw, and she was sure that splinters had become embedded into the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands from her scrambling into the crack between the wall and the ceiling.

That's how she'd done it--that's how she found herself here. It was so easy that she wondered if they were tempting her, if they knew all along that the humidity, the sweltering heat of the small room in which they had locked her would drive her to escape, or at least attempt to. Not that the crawlspace was any cooler, or any less damp, or any more comforting.

Something crawled across her ankle. She shut her eyes.

They must be a cult or something. Do serial killers travel in packs? She didn't think so. And clearly one of them had a handle on the others. Nothing she saw seemed to point to any murderous tendencies, either, but who could be sure? The dilapidated house was too dark to tell, lit only by a few swinging light bulbs as far as she could see. Like a horror movie. But no blood. Her breath grew rapid, and sweat trailed down her neck.

***

Over and over the events of the day and the night before replayed in her head.

In the woods ran a river, and since Mona had moved down here, she'd been curious about its distance and its wildlife. Since she'd been a kid she'd been an explorer, harvesting plants and attempting to tame wild animals with peanut butter sandwiches. Even into her adulthood she couldn't pass up an opportunity to hike unknown territory.

She had gone a little too far this time, she surmised now. Time slipped by, and before long the sun was dipping below the horizon. Long shadows lay before her, but she had a flashlight and her phone, and she had spotted houses past the trees not long ago. If she needed help, she could hitch a ride from one of her new "neighbors," or at the very least call an Uber. And anyway, she figured, she could hold her own. She hadn't made it into the Performance Center for nothing.

And so, the path illuminated by her flashlight, she carried on, backpack thumping against her lower back.

At some point along the way, the shadows seemed to move of their own accord, and they looked nothing like the deer or snakes that she expected, and far less like the trees that surrounded her. But before she could open her mouth to call out a cautionary "hello," massive hands had gripped her waist--and over her mouth when she yelled--, and from a distance a voice lilted.

"Do you know where you are, little lamb?" the voice asked.

She jerked her head to view the face of her captor, or that of the man speaking, or anything that might alert her to their identities.

"Did you stray from the fold, sweetheart? Yeah?" The voice began to chuckle. Meanwhile, heart racing, she lashed out with all she had. If she could only free herself...

The grip around her waist grew tighter, and, breath heavy, she flailed again. Ignoring her, the man holding her turned to face the owner of the voice. Mona, still in his grasp, gazed into the faces of not one but two figures, one expressionless and the other smiling, arms behind his back. The latter of the two stepped towards her, and Mona felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"You don't belong here," the man snickered, placing a finger beneath Mona's chin. At his touch she aimed a kick to the gut--and made contact. He crumpled at the waist. Mona's face flushed, eyes wide with what she had done.

Immediately the expressionless man made his way towards Mona, but to her shock, the first man waved him off.

"I like her." His voice was hoarse. He was slow to rise, coughing all the time, before motioning with his hands and walking away. With a single deft movement, the man holding her lifted her to his shoulders, wrapping her about his neck in a way that reminded Mona of a shepherd carrying a lost lamb. Out of the corners of her eyes she could see part of the man's bearded face, but she dared not push her luck in order to get a better look.

As they walked, the forest transitioned into swampland, and mosquitoes came to rest on her skin.

***

"Don't stray, little lamb."

Unconsciously her body shifted towards the hole in the ceiling. She caught herself, but not before the wood creaked. Soft laughter drifted from the small room. Her heart shot to her throat, pounding more madly than ever. Clutching, unclutching her fist. The heat made her head swim, sending her thoughts into a blurred frenzy.

"Come out, come out... It's just me. I won't let them hurt you..." His smile was evident through his voice.

His voice, his voice. She felt like a child worn down by her parent to confess. Out with it. No use in hiding. Hesitant but inevitable. Go on.

She'd have to emerge eventually, and now that they knew of her hiding place, they would not keep it out of their sight from then on. So why fight it? She teetered on her heels, her eyes fixed on the crack of light emanating from the room.

The drone of cicadas pulsated in her ears like a heartbeat.


End file.
